


I pray the Lord

by anniehow



Category: Supernatural, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, spoilers for Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniehow/pseuds/anniehow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the events of Upsalla Athelstan prays, and someone answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. incipit

Ragnar woke with a start, instantly alert but unsure of the reason. Lagertha slept on, wrapped in furs on her side of their bed, her slumber troubled but unbroken. The moon was shining bright, outside in the still night. There were no sounds of trouble anywhere, but Ragnar tensed further.

There were no sounds at all.

He slipped out of his room, barefooted and still in his under tunic, armed only with a dagger. The grand hall was quiet, the ambers of the fire slowly smouldering under the ashes. The door was ajar. Ragnar headed there on steps as silent as a raider stealing past a sentinel.

There was a lone figure standing not three steps out. Even from behind and in the gloom he recognised Athelstan’s short braids and his cloak. “Athelstan?” he called in a harsh whisper. Something wasn’t right in the night, and he didn’t like the idea of Athelstan being the one to stand guard. He received no answer.

“Priest,” he called again, this time louder and coming to grab him by the shoulder.

But Athelstan’s head turned slowly to regard him just as his fingers closed on a shoulder that wasn’t familiar. The blue eyes he’d grown accustomed to were different, older and more powerful. He withdrew his hand instantly, the feeling he had found closer iron that reverberated with a great blow, like sword upon shield, than of flesh and blood.

“I am not your priest,” the creature wearing Athelstan’s face said, in a voice far deeper and rougher than the light one he knew so well. Gone was even the lilting accent of the Englishman, replaced by a perfect Norse cadence.

Ragnar took a step back and to the side, facing the creature more fully. It had copied Athelstan’s form to the very last detail, including the tiny silver clasp Gyda had put in his beard. But it stood unlike the priest, with arms hanging down his sides and his head tilted like a crow watching through one eye.

“Are you a God?” He had prayed for a sign from Odin, had tried to offer a worthy sacrifice in exchange for guidance. He thought the sacrifice had been soundly rejected. Had he been wrong?

The creature lowered its eyes, and looked to the side.

“No.” Then it added “I was created as a mere a _gassagen_  of the Lord.” It brought a hand up to its chest and smoothed down the fabric. “This man would call me an _angelus_.”

Ragnar didn’t know those words, but the implications made him pause, anger burning cold beneath his calm. “You mean Athelstan is there? You took possession of him?”

“For the moment, yes. My usual vessel is... unavailable, and this man prayed so feverently to be an instrument of God that I heard him from very long away, an echo through his bloodline. Our mutual needs were met.”

Ragnar smiled. He didn’t like this creature, this- this _angelus_ , and it had admitted it wasn’t a God. This meant he didn’t fear it. “Were they? But you can’t have him.”

“He gave himself over to me of his own free will,” it replied, eyes meeting his again, an unnatural flame lighting up behind the pupils.

“He’s my slave and he belongs to me!” Ragnar hissed. “Leave him be; now.”

The _angelus_ didn’t really change expression, but something like amusement touched the corner of its lips. “Or what, Ragnar Lothbrok? What will you do?”

Ragnar didn’t reply. He drew his fist as fast as he could and struck, but instead of connecting with the neck he was stopped by a hand as hard as rock and as strong as an iron vice. With a flick of the wrist Ragnar found himself kneeling at the feet of the creature, arm twisted almost all the way out of his shoulder. He had never met anything so strong, not even the bear that had guarded Lagertha’s lands.

 There was a flash of light, like Thor’s thunder, tearing through the cloudless night, and in that moment Ragnar saw the shadows of raven wings, each as big as a man is tall, arching out from the _angelus_ ’ back, and the cold light behind the eyes burned brighter. Fearing that the creature would attack his family after having taken his priest, Ragnar brandished the dagger with his free hand and sunk it in the belly in front of him.

The display of power ended, but the angelus betrayed no pain. It frowned, looking down at the hilt still protruding, before pulling it out right in front of Ragnar’s eyes. There was no blood on the blade. Between one blink and the next, there wasn’t even a tear in the shirt. Finally the creature released him and stepped back. “Humans,” it muttered, “always stabbing what you don’t understand.”

It made to walk away. It was going to take Athelstan with it and Ragnar had no idea how to stop it. “Don’t!” he called, desperate and angry. “Why are the Gods taking everything from me? First my unborn son, now this! What have I done to anger them so? Answer me!”

“This man’s choice to offer himself to me has nothing to do with you, Ragnar Lothbrok. He prayed for the soul of a man who died for him, and he prayed for this. This, I could grant.”

 _Lief_. Athelstan had been praying his god for Lief’s sacrifice. This creature was more than human, but it didn’t know all. It _was_ Ragnar’s fault. “No, no, you can’t! You’re wrong, you can’t take him, he belongs here! He doesn’t know it, but he belongs here.”

The _angelus_ seemed to consider this. Ragnar was still on his knees. He didn’t know what to do. Offering a further sacrifice didn’t seem like any kind of solution.

“I’ll return him to wherever he wishes to after I take back my true vessel. You have my word.”

“And what of it? How can I trust your word, angelus?”

Again, it paused and considered the demand. It shook Athelstan’s head and looked to the sky. “What kind of reassurance would you have, if not my word?”

 _A blood oath_ , Ragnar thought immediately. _Your true name_. _Athelstan, restored, here and now_.

 The creature must have read his mind, because it suggested “I’ll give you my true name. Would that set your mind at ease?”

“Yes.” With a true name he could summon, he could bind, he could... he wasn’t sure what he could do, actually, but he knew there was power in names, and the seer would know what to do with it.

“I’m Castiel,” it said, as wind rose and he disappeared right before Ragnar’s eyes.

Slowly, like waking from a deep slumber, the noises of the world filtered back through. The night calls of the birds, the buzzing of the insects, the murmurs of the trees and the river. Everything was back, but Athelstan was gone.

 


	2. in principio res

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than anything, it was the not knowing that was eating at Ragnar.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Son of a bitch... Cas? Is that you?”

“I have acquired a different vessel, until we manage to find Crowley, and force him to relinquish my true one.”

“Where did you ‘acquire’ him? Did you raid a ren fair?”

“I... don’t think I understand that reference. In any case, we should move, fast. Crowley won’t expect me to have already found a new vessel. If we want to retain the element of surprise, speed and stealth will be essential.”

“Huh, Cas... no offence, but the ‘stealth’ part is going to be pretty difficult if you go around looking like, er, well, _that_.”

“If my plan works, Sam, I won’t be keeping this man long enough for appearances to matter.”

Ooooo

The seer only served them as far as spouting dire warnings. He wouldn’t help them seeking Castiel again, he refused to even hear the name spoken.

“This is far bigger than you, Ragnar Lothbrok,” he admonished, angrily. “The Gods are not to be trifled with. Count yourself blessed that all you lost last night was a heathen slave.”

“That angelous said it wasn’t a God!”

“Then it must have been a draugr!” Suddenly he ripped his cowl back to expose the rest of his scarred skull. Like the face, folds of melted and scarred skin covered everything, making him look at once less and more than a man. “This, this is what happens when we presume to come into the Gods’ true presence! Now leave me be, and if you want my advice, sacrifice a horse to Thor and ask that this draugr never return.”

Lagertha took the seer’s words to heart. She was troubled that Athelstan had been taken, but she feared more for the children if this uncanny presence were to return. Gyda wept for the loss of her friend, and Bjorn skulked about, upset and unable to decide exactly why, in the manner of boys his age.

But Ragnar wasn’t convinced. He’d been given a name, different from what any of them knew, and he’d seen Athelstan: that was no walking corpse. More than anything, it was the not knowing that was eating at Ragnar.

Three days after that night, Floki and Helga wandered into Kattegat, carrying herbs and mushrooms from deep inside the forest.

“I heard the boundaries of the realms faded, and that the priest was lost,” he gave as explanation. Who could have informed him, Ragnar had no idea, but he didn’t pry. All he was interested was if he could help.

“No,” Floki replied bluntly, before giggling. “But I know who can! Only, are you willing to risk asking for his aid, and for a foreigner?”

Everyone had been asking that. Why was he so willing to meddle with the affairs of the Gods, and all for a mere slave? But Athelstan wasn’t a slave, or even a thrall, though he did, Ragnar felt undoubtedly, belong to him. Perhaps he could have bowed to the Gods’ will if they hadn’t thrown the mystery of Castiel the angelous into the lot. It was the lure of the unknown: Ragnar couldn’t help but crave the kind of knowledge that all his kin lacked.

“How soon can you call this person?”

Floki’s eyes sparkled from beneath the black smudges of his lids.

“I didn’t say it was a person.”

Oooo

They left the village and headed back to Floki’s dwelling. Ragnar came alone: Kattegat couldn’t spare Lagertha, it was far too dangerous for Bjorn, and Rollo... well, it wasn’t the sort of thing he was willing to share with his brother.

It was also, quite possibly, the stupidest stunt he’d ever thought of. The fact that it had gotten Floki so excited was probably warning enough.

They set up a circle of herbs, sweetleaf and mistletoe, and Helga walked slowly around it chanting and setting it on fire. Floki bent over until his head was between his knees, and then walked backwards around the fire, in counterpoint to Helga, calling to Loki. Ragnar watched from the side with a flagon of his best mead, a bowl of honey and every kind of sweets Helga knew how to bake.

The mangled face of the seer came to his mind. Calling Loki, of all Gods, to their aid was so incredibly foolish that if they all ended turned into trees they’d probably deserve it.

“Floki might like that, actually,” said a voice near him.

He glanced to the side. Helga and Floki were still busy casting the spell, and what appeared to be a weary traveller had approached their group from the forest. He was a small man, who came no taller than Ragnar’s shoulder, brown of hair, beard and eyes, clothes caked in mud. He was watching the proceedings with affected nonchalance. When Floki stumbled he gave a small, fond grin.

“Oh, is this for me?” He continued, drawing closer and peering into Ragnar’s basket. Before waiting for a reply, he darted out a hand and snatched a crumbly biscuit.

Ragnar’s first instinct would have been to take this man by the collar and shake him until his teeth rattled for disturbing them, but something stayed his hand. There was a stillness, a hush that had descended upon the woods that he had felt once before, not four days ago, when Athelstan had been taken. His hesitation was rewarded when the sunlight played in the man’s eyes and they sparkled gold.

“My lord!” Floki suddenly exclaimed, shuffling awkwardly towards them as fast as his bent position allowed him, before falling into a sort of heap in front of the stranger’s feet.

“My pet,” the stranger replied with a certain amount of fondness. “What have you brought me, this time? Who is that ravishing creature? And this bearded handmaiden bearing gifts?”

“This is my Helga,” Floki introduced as the woman hurried to join them at the edge of the clearing. “And this is Ragnar Lothbrok, who bought my boat and sailed it west.”

Despite Floki’s boasts, Ragnar hadn’t truly thought this would work. And, whatever form he expected the God Loki to take, a diminutive traveller wasn’t it. Athelstan was probably taller than him. Nonetheless he bowed and presented his offerings as best as he could. He wished to meddle, sure, but not to disrespect.

“How quaint,” Loki commented, popping another biscuit in his mouth and letting it soil his beard. “Well, your offerings have improved since the addition of your woman. Will your friend prove to be as entertaining as you, or will he bore me with requests like the seer he keeps thinking about?”

Ragnar wasn’t a fool. He knew fear, he just chose to ignore it, and he did so in this instance, plunging ahead. If his fate was to be struck down by a God, then so be it. “Four nights ago a creature calling itself an angelous passed through my village, and took one of mine.”

Loki tilted his head, apparently sceptical. “Really? Do tell.”

“No one knows what it was-“

“Yes, yes, of course,” Loki interrupted, already impatient and irritated, ”they haven’t touched this world in hundreds of years, and never this far north, obviously the Northmen don’t know about angels. Somehow I doubt this was the real deal, or you and your eyeballs wouldn’t be here.”

“It said its name was Castiel.”

Loki let out a low whistle. “Did he, now? Well, pet,” he said, turning to Floki, “looks like you’re hosting me tonight. Turns out I _am_ interested in your human friend.”


	3. ante tempestate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki laughed. He didn’t sound very amused, which concerned Ragnar somewhat. An amused Loki was probably the only kind of helpful Loki

Loki settled himself in Floki’s best chair, cushioned on pelts and with his feet propped up on Ragnar’s lap, where he’d demanded the man wash them with rosemary water.

Helga had busied herself with combing through the tangle of the god’s hair and braiding it neatly, and Floki plied him with every kind of food he had available and with copious amounts of mead. Early on Loki had grabbed himself a large helping of festival mushrooms, and both Helga and Floki had partaken of a small portion each. Ragnar had not.

Now Ragnar sat, watching keenly as the two humans became less and less efficient in their endeavours and the god more and more mellow under all the fawning. He kept his touches with the fragrant wet cloth as light as he could, to avoid calling attention to himself. This was truly an opportunity not to be squandered on an inebriated mind.

At a certain point Floki tried to refill the god’s cup and ended up spilling nearly all of it in his lap, which prompted a round of general laughter. Loki kicked, seemingly unconsciously, at Ragnar’s hands, pushing him away, and then snapped his fingers. All the chairs and stools they’d been sitting on disappeared, and they all landed on their bums on the soft animal pelts. There was a delighted shriek from Helga as Loki pulled her forward and started kissing her with relish. Floki hanged back, kneeling, unsure of what to do but giggling as if he couldn’t help himself. Loki reached back blindly, seized him by the wrist, and pulled until the human was plastered to his back.

Ragnar scooted back, slowly, until he was propped against a beam and settled there to watch. He wondered if gods fucked any different than men. He was prepared to simply observe until Loki broke the kiss with Helga and locked eyes with Ragnar. The man held his breath; obviously he’d do as the god requested, but the possibility that he’d cast a spell and recruit Ragnar as one of his followers didn’t please him. Floki was a friend and a valued ally, but Ragnar didn’t want to be like him. He much preferred to be beloved by Odin.

But Loki didn’t beckon him. He simply turned and claimed Floki for a kiss, instead. Ragnar let go of his breath, silently, and dipped his head, eyes going to the ground. He was pleased, and eager to make most of his vantage point. But he blinked, and suddenly night had fallen, the fire had burned down to ash and nothing stirred inside Floki’s hut.

Ragnar got to his feet, trying and failing to make out anything in the dark. There were lumps under the pelts, but when he came closer to inspect he found them to be Floki and Helga, twined together and sleeping contentedly. Had Loki left? Ragnar knew him to be a capricious god. Had he taken all the amusement they offered and decided not to hear Ragnar’s request? How was he going to make the angel Catiel return now?

He walked out of the hut and was surprised to find the circle of fragrant herbs still burning outside in the clearing, and a lone figure sitting in the middle, waiting.

The flames reached up about knee-level, and the circle was even and unbroken, unnaturally so even for the first lighting. Ragnar easily jumped inside and sat himself opposite Loki, mimicking the god’s position.

Loki watched him keenly for a long, silent moment. Ragnar smiled and waited to be invited to speak.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” the god finally said, as if quoting a ballad Ragnar was not familiar with. “I said I was interested, didn’t I? So, speak, mortal. Tell me of this angel that visited you, a northman, and a thousand years after the last of their kind walked through Midgard.”

Ragnar told him. He repeated word by word everything Castiel had said, aware of the power words can have, and finished with “and I want to call him back.”

“Do you, now? Even if I tell you that angels are fearsome warriors? That they used to level entire, walled cities, and that this Castiel could wipe out your entire village in the time it takes a bird to fall out of the sky?”

“Why do the Gods allow such things, if angels are so dangerous? Why do they not bind them to their will... or were they banished, a thousand years ago, and that is why humans didn’t know about them?”

Loki laughed. He didn’t sound very amused, which concerned Ragnar somewhat. An amused Loki was probably the only kind of helpful Loki.

“The Gods have no use for such creatures, and when they retreated from Midgard it was decided that it was good riddance to a nuisance.”

“Except this one. This Castiel is back.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, apparently delighted with Ragnar’s single mindedness on the subject. “This Castiel is back.”

“Are the Gods going to intervene? Are you going to do anything about it?”

“Me? I’ve no interest in getting tangled with the angels,” Loki denied, looking put upon.

“But wouldn’t you like to know why this one came? What if more do? Wouldn’t that be ah- a _nuisance_?”

Loki smiled. Ragnar smiled back. He felt that the God was approving of his line of thinking.

“What do you propose?”

“Allow me, Lord Loki, to be of help. Grant me the power to trap this creature, and I’ll take all of its knowledge, and bring it back to you.”

“Oh, isn’t that complicated! You wish to summon, then trap, then successfully interrogate, an angel, and survive all of this long enough to be of use to me, is that it?”

Of course it wasn’t the end of it. Since Loki had mentioned that angels were fearsome warriors, Ragnar now entertained thoughts of binding one such force to his command. A conqueror would be unstoppable with such a creature in his thrall. He could already picture Athelstan walking out into the battlefield, perhaps back in England, and King Aella laughing at the sight until his scorn turned into despair. Could Athelstan, serving through Castiel, earn a place in Valhalla for such deeds?

“It would be easier if there was a way to bind it to my will,” Ragnar insinuated, “but in any case, I’m willing to take the risk. I want the knowledge, and if I can gain it through serving the Gods, I can think of no higher honour.”

“What if it involves sacrifice?”

“I’d give both my eyes, if necessary.”

“Don’t count on that being off the table, where angels are involved, but no. I’m talking about higher sacrifices. Precious sacrifices.”

 _Athelstan,_ Ragnar thought immediately. He’d been willing to give him to the Gods, his most treasured possession, but he’d been rejected. Was his fate to be saved only to be sacrificed for the knowledge the angels possessed?

“Yes,” Ragnar declared. “Whatever it takes.”

Loki clapped his hands, giving every appearance of being delighted. “You’ll need blood, and fire, and cunning to pull that off, Ragnar Lothbrok. And I’m afraid you’ll have to supply all of them. I’m merely going to tell you the _how_ , understand? You’ll have to rip the veil between worlds and reach through, and I don’t want to be anywhere near it. And if anyone asks, you never heard it from me, are we clear?”

Ragnar bowed his head. “You may not be Odin or Thor, but I know the wrath of Loki to be far more dangerous, my Lord.”

“Good. Now, what I’m about to say was never meant for humans, but for you I’ll make an exception. You see, flames have many uses. They can capture, they can hide,” he glanced to the side, watching the flames surrounding them, “and they can summon...”


End file.
